


My Skin is Not My Own

by Kylenne



Series: Kinktober 2020 [6]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Bisexual Female Character of Color, Black Female Character, Body Dysphoria, Body Image, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Everybody Lives, F/M, Gisele Surana (OC), Haurchefant Greystone Lives, Kinktober, Kinktober 2020, Mirror Sex, Other Ships Not Mentioned in Tags, Polyamorous Character, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:01:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26964850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kylenne/pseuds/Kylenne
Summary: When Gisele at last answered the call of the Crystal Exarch, little did she know the price that would be exacted from her when traversing the Rift to the First. Fortunately, she does not have to cope with the turmoil over such an unexpected development alone, and receives the only comfort that can soothe her, reminding her of what truly matters.
Relationships: Haurchefant Greystone/Warrior of Light
Series: Kinktober 2020 [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1948408
Comments: 7
Kudos: 21





	My Skin is Not My Own

Gisele Surana had always been vain.

She never denied it; for if beauty was its currency, she was possessed of an embarrassment of riches. In the land of her birth, where she was despised for all she was—an elven mage with the blood of Orlais and the Dalish by turns—it was of a surety the only wealth she had ever known. 

So she burnished it to gleaming, and wielded it as surely as she did spellsword and incantation. In the Circle were men and women alike sick with desire for her; she set brush fires wherever she went, and was fair despised for it by her shemlen peers, who deemed her little more than a painted elven whore even if she did nothing to stoke those flames. It was Mlle. Vivienne, one of the visiting Orlesian Enchanters, who taught her to hold her head high—to never dull her beauty that the envious might shine—and instilled in her a love of adornment.

And so Gisele did. In a world where few choices were hers to make, she chose to embrace her great beauty, to revel in it, and seized the pleasures it so brought her with all that she was. Why should she feel shame in a body which brought her so much? In a life of so much suffering, so much toil and grief, she never had.

Not even when it changed, once before, in her rebirth to Source; Mother, in Her infinite compassion, did not change all that much of it, in truth. Still, Gisele was possessed of ethereal grace and pointed ears, still crowned with a lush wealth of curls white as the driven snow, still possessed of upturned eyes of dazzling amethyst. And still was Gisele possessed of skin in the richest and deepest bronze hue, flawless with its hint of golden undertone, as though she were kissed by the sun and it embraced her as a lover. Her body was as lush as ever it was, with luscious curves formed like a gilded hourglass. If she were far taller as an Elezen than she ever was as an elvhen of Thedas, and longer limbed, it only added to her allure. 

Never before had she felt shame when gazing upon her own reflection. Pride, yes, and serenity, and comfort.

And then, she came to the First, and she did not recognize her own face.

_Your aether…is rather more...volatile than the others', not anchored to Source in the same way. Mayhap it is a consequence of your rebirth to it--one unforeseen, I assure you. So much was still so unknown to me of the vagaries of traversing the Rift, when I embarked upon this venture. Forgive me, Gisele. I shall find a way to reverse it, to restore you to the way you once were. I swear it._

Tears pooled within her eyes, unbidden, as she remembered the Exarch’s words to her, when first she beheld the change in her form, reflected in a crystalline pane. Then, she believed him an arrogant, reckless dilettante toying all too casually with forces he did not comprehend--and still, she did. Would that his ignorance had not cost her so much, ripping her friends and lovers from her, and now her very body. She stormed from the Ocular that day, weeping and weeping, cursing him.

Gisele avoided mirrors, after that, for the first time in her life—both of them. 

It was not that Gisele believed Viera any manner of homely, by any means. Though she had met but few upon the Source, they were to a one remarkable beauties—not least of which Fran of Dalmasca, who set her heart to fluttering every time she beheld her. But she was not a Viera; Gisele was an Elezen, of Wildwood descent. Before that, she was an _elf_ —and how bitterly ironic it was to walk the streets of the Crystarium and at last hear that name for the first time in years, and without any of the scorn she was so accustomed in her homeland, but be denied the name of her birth, for the maladroit evocations of one G’raha Tia. 

For now, she was a Viera, and it unsettled her to the core; it could do no less for one so comfortable and content in her own skin to be so violently torn from it. Unlike Hydaelyn, the Exarch was not so kind as to seal away the memory of what she once was, upon calling her to a foreign world, and she shuddered to see the rounded moon face with its button nose staring back at her, where the familiar angles should be. Worse yet, many of her cherished garments no longer fit, having sprouted several ilms in height as she did, and she’d fain given up on asking Feo Ul to fetch her any. Her very bones felt heavier; in particular she felt like a newborn colt awkward and unsteady in the Kriegstanz for the first time since Mistress Nashmeira first imparted to her the secrets of the Art, and as a result she was forced to spend hours upon the practice field in the Crystarium relearning her very sense of balance. And her ears…they caught on everything, heard everything, and required near constant brushing for the delicate angora-esque fur, which caused her to overheat at least twice whilst traversing the sands of Amh Araeng, thick and insulating as it was. 

She’d given up on her earrings, along with her hats.

But the confusion on the faces of the twins, and the need to explain herself over and over again, only deepened her sense of shame, and it caused her to feel aught but dread at the prospect of reunion with the others, in a way she never could have dreamed only a few short weeks ago, when it was all she wanted, grieving their absence as she did. 

Haurchefant and Ysayle were, naturally, the cause of her greatest consternation on the matter—they who knew and loved her body most intimately amongst all the Scions, even Thancred. How would Gisele’s lovers react—her husband? Haurchefant claimed it did not concern him, in the aftermath of their harrowing reunion in the burning hamlet of Holminster. They had little time to speak of it, of course; he had to see to his men, ever the Knight Commander, and then there were discussions within the Ocular, plans to be made to reclaim Norvrandt from the Lightwardens now that it was clear Gisele could subdue them once and for all, by the gift of her Mother. The whole of the Crystarium erupted in joyous feasting upon that glorious nightfall not seen in a century, wine and spirits flowing freely at the Wandering Stairs, and the Scions partook just as freely, permitting themselves to celebrate a hard won victory at last after what was for the twins and Haurchefant at least, a full year of stalemate battles upon the First.

All but Gisele. Though it grieved her heart, Gisele avoided them—avoided _him_ —all the same, fleeing instead to her suite of rooms there at the Pendants to spend the night by her lonesome, for she could not bear to let him see her this way a moment longer.

But she was startled from her long brooding by a rapping at the door, and she was not surprised to see Haurchefant on the other side of it, bearing with him an enormous bouquet of flowers, and a bottle of what surely had to be Glynard’s finest. Gods, but he was so handsome in the armor he’d procured here on the First, encased in steel of the oxblood hue he so favored, and a magnificent cape which billowed elegantly behind him when he strode forward in that self-assured manner she so admired in him. Her heart was set to fluttering with butterflies at the sight of him, despite her consternation, for his angular, hawk-like features softened with the smile upon his lips, and those beautiful eyes blue as a summer sky fair gleamed at the sight of _her_. Gisele drank in his beauty a long moment, as warmth spread through her. She never tired of it.

“Haurche,” Gisele breathed, her voice caught in her throat. Gods, how she’d missed him.

“I thought I’d bring the celebration to you, my dearest lady,” Haurchefant said, grinning as he held up the bottle, finding a pair of glasses. “And, mayhap some small token of my affection, as penance for leaving you bereft as I did in Gyr Abania.”

“You could hardly be faulted for it, love,” Gisele gently chided him, but graciously accepted the bouquet nonetheless, carefully cradling the thin parchment in her arms, and inhaling deep the intoxicating scent of flora blended so masterfully. She noted lavender at the base of it, no surprise—but, too, there was somewhat of apple blossom, a hint of citrus along the edges. There was, as yet, much and more of Norvrandt’s flora Gisele did not know, and yearned to discover. But she found a vase, upon a shelf, and filled it with water from the basin. As she carefully arranged the bouquet within it, Haurchefant brought over a pair of slender flutes, filled with sparkling wine.

“There are flowers here which have not bloomed in a hundred years,” Haurchefant said, holding a glass to her. “Night blooming varieties, namely. Aymeric would know better than I…how is he, love?”

Gisele took the glass, and sighed. “Well enough, all things considered. With Garlemald silent, he returned to Ishgard from the Gyr Abanian front—though he left the bulk of the Temple Knights to aid in holding the border. He sends his love, of course, and bade me bring you home, for he is beside himself with worry for you, though he tries not to let it show, and buries himself in his duties to cope. In truth, I’ve not seen him this distraught since…”

She dared not finish her thought; there was no need, for they both knew of what she spoke, though Gisele could not help but glance down low at his breastplate, and what precisely it protected.

“Then let us pray for all our sakes that it is sooner rather than later, for it means we shall have freed Norvrandt of this unholy Light,” Haurchefant said. He wandered to the window then, opening it up to the night sky full of dazzling stars, with eyes full of wonder. “But a single step, how glorious it is…and all thanks to you, my beloved Sorceress of the Red—though I had no doubts. It could have only been you, my bravest and most dashing of heroines.” Lifting his glass to her, his mouth curved into a smile, and the freshly revealed stars were but dull stones when measured against the luminescence of his eyes, Gisele thought.

She, too, raised her glass. “Thanks to _us_ , my love…for I am far braver with the shield of House Fortemps to protect me,” she said.

Haurchefant took a long drink, before staring out into the night. “You’ve no idea what it was like. I can only describe it as akin to when my homeland was plunged into the icy depths of eternal winter, in the wake of the Calamity. But we Ishgardians have only lived without the green grass and the promise of spring for five years. These ill-fated souls have known aught but perpetual, eldritch Light for nigh unto a century. A year of it was nearly enough to drive me mad, I do not know how they have so endured. But they have, even when they lacked all reason to hope,” he said quietly, furrowing his brow. “I do not deny that your well-being is ever at the forefront of my heart, that I took up the Exarch’s cause, and gladly, for your sake above all else. But, the people of Lakeland…my heart bleeds for them in kind. These are good folk, Gisele—the truest salt of the earth. I have come to love them well, in my time here, and they have suffered grievously in the wake of the Flood. I fear my words inadequate in expressing my gratitude for what you have done this day, but I thank you nonetheless,” he said.

A knight lives to serve—this was the axiom by which Haurchefant lived, the creed with which he held fast, above all others. Gisele was thoroughly convinced that never had there been a knight of Ishgard who so embodied the nobility and grace of that calling—such perfection the Goddess Halone demanded—as Lord Haurchefant Greystone des Fortemps et Borel. 

And he had served the people of Lakeland well, by all accounts, as well, for not one among them spoke of the honorable Commander Fortemps with aught less than the most ardent respect and the sincerest adoration. The Crystarium owed much to him, said the Exarch and Captain Lyna by turns. His prowess in battle was second to none, of course, but more than that, as always, it was his compassion, his conviviality and joie de vivre—these qualities which made him the great leader of men he had always been, what he was born to be. Twas Haurchefant’s heart, brave and true and so very tender, which caused Gisele to fall so madly, hopelessly in love with him. 

That love had only deepened over the years; mayhap it deepened yet more within that moment, when she gazed upon him, bathed within the silvery light of the full moon, so large and luminous, and saw the peace which settled upon his broad shoulders as he gazed upon it. It was the night, surely, which granted it to him. Would that she could share in it, in the joy it brought to so many—and the hope it portended, for all Norvrandt, and the First. But she felt naught in that moment but uncertainty. Even then, after toasting her praises, Haurchefant gazed out unto the moon, and not upon her.

Tears welled within her eyes then, and she quickly raised her glass to her lips, taking a long drink of bubbly wine, and focused her attentions on the taste of apples and honey upon her tongue, in an attempt to distract herself from her own maudlin thoughts.

“It is quite unlike you to be this silent, my heart. Nor is it like you to so flee a fete,” Haurchefant said softly, his brow furrowed deeper. “Ah, my sweet...at long last you stand before me once more, yet I cannot help feeling as though you are still a world away from me. Have I as yet caused offense? Are you wroth with me?”

Gisele sniffled, and set her half empty glass down upon the table, digging through the pouch at her belt for a handkerchief, and at last found the square of linen to lift trembling to her nose. “No—yes. Ah, Haurche! My heart is so heavy.”

“Whatever for, love?”

“I know not my own flesh,” Gisele said, trembling as she swatted at her eyes. “And you treat me as though nothing at all has changed.”

But Haurchefant crossed the distance between them, and with delicate fingertips did lift her tearstained face in the gentlest touch. “It has not, as I am concerned.”

“ _My skin is not my own!_ ” Gisele cried, sobbing into his shoulder, at last undone by his tenderness, and he brought his strong arms about her, holding her tightly against him, warm even through the steel and leather he wore. Even this gesture of comfort made her weep all the harder, for she could not rest her cheek against his heart as she had so many times before, to be soothed by the steady rhythm of his beating heart against her ear; nay, with the ilms she had grown, her nose was buried into his neck, and those accursed leporine…things…on her head were nudged aside as he turned his head to rest his cheek upon her curls. “How do you even know it is your wife that you behold, ser knight? I could be an Ascian playing you false, for all you know!”

“I knew you the moment you cried out my name in the din of battle, Gisele,” Haurchefant spoke softly into them, setting the soft fur to rustling. “I knew not how, or why; I knew naught of the vagaries of fate which made it so, but I knew the Viis—the Viera—stood before me was you. I would know you anywhere, love.”

“How?”

Haurchefant squeezed her tightly. “Oh, my dearest. I could wax rhapsodic of the particular carriage of your rapier and focus, the especial grace of your delicate hands, how you glide through those ancient vermillion sword forms so elegantly upon the field—'tis no small surprise that you’ve taken up the Hannish Art, of a surety, for you have always fought with singular beauty and poise, as though you are dancing. And all of these qualities bore out the truth of who you are, indeed. But it was your eyes, my love…poets and philosophers have long held them as windows unto the soul, and yours have called to me in all their amethyst splendor from the moment you first strode into my office at Camp Dragonhead, seeking Master Garlond’s airship. They shine like sparkling jewels, with the singular luminescence of your gentle spirit. And always, in those soft pools of violet, there is love, abiding and true. I would know them anywhere, even should they gaze upon me from a face somewhat other than Elezen, for I have drowned in them more times than I can count. And I knew them then, as the fires raged about us in luckless, doomed Holminster— _I knew you_.”

Gisele was bereft but a moment, when Haurchefant lifted his cheek from her and pulled away; but then he leaned down, cradling her tearstained cheeks within his hands, and parted the fullness of her lips with a tongue that seared fire and all the passion of his words. If she but doubted that he spoke from his generous heart, the ardor with which he bathed her left naught to be had. She melted within the strong circle of his arms, resting her head back against the crook of his shoulder, as she worked his lips with her own, clutching the elegant line of his neck with trembling fingers rising up to stroke the sharp angles of his flawless cheekbones. It was love she tasted upon his warm tongue, as surely as the fiery hint of apples and honey from the wine they shared, and Gisele savored it like nothing else. When at last he pulled up to catch his faltering breath, he gently plucked the handkerchief from where it had fallen, caught upon the gilt chain of her belt, and lifted it to brush away her tears with aching tenderness, wiping the muck of kajal and rouge they had made.

“Haurche,” she breathed, stroking the silk of his silvery locks, to brush the wayward spikes from his brow; with an idle fingernail, clipped short and lacquered, did she toy with the thin fillet of gold he wore upon it, recognizing with warm pride her own handiwork. “I've missed you so.”

“Every moment apart from you has been the bitterest measure of exile,” Haurchefant said, as he did. “And every day of this long exile have I prayed to the Fury that She might grant me some small measure of mercy, and return my precious desert rose to me. I have asked Her for so little, in my life; only forgiveness, and for this.”

Gisele sighed deeply, clinging all the tighter to him. “Mayhap it is ungrateful of me, but I cannot relish the manner by which your prayers were answered. I wish it was mine own face you saw at Holminster...and, now.”

“Gisele, my heart…” Haurchefant said, frowning a little, and he returned the stained cloth to its resting place within her leather pouch, then returned his affectionate hands to her round cheeks. “It may not be precisely the same as it once was, but it is yours, and as precious to me.”

She swallowed down the lump which rose in her throat, blinking hard against the anxious beating of her heart. “But…do you find it as beautiful, too?”

Haurchefant’s answering smile was radiant. “Of a surety, I do.” He lowered his arms, then, and gently took her hands into his own. “Come with me a moment, dove.”

Tilting her head in mild confusion, Gisele nonetheless nodded, and permitted him to lead her across the length of the chamber, to the short bureau of drawers against the farthest wall; upon it stood a tall mirror, and Haurchefant led her directly to meet its crystalline gaze.

“I do not understand what you are about,” she confessed, averting her eyes from the reflection even as she did. But Haurchefant’s fingers slipped around the softness of her rounded jawline, and he gently lifted her chin with the back of his fingers, raising it—and her gaze along with it.

“Why do you hesitate so? The woman I love and cherish never missed an opportunity to behold her beauty, and relish it,” he said, with an impish little grin.

Gisele’s jaw tightened, her body stiffening, and she darted her eyes downward. “I do not resemble her.”

“Don’t you?” Haurchefant asked curiously. “I do not mean to dismiss your melancholy, or make light of your woe. Though it is not the same, by any means, I know somewhat of feeling despair within one’s flesh, of feeling robbed of the body you so loved. But it was you who taught me to bear my unseen scars with pride, that they have made me who I am—that I am still Haurchefant of the Silver Fuller, the man who would have gladly died for you, and bears the proof of it upon his very flesh. I would merely return your comfort, my love, a thousandfold. For these are no mere platitudes, hollow and empty, simply because I made a vow before the Fury and all Eorzea to love you, come what may—for you are, without exception, the most beautiful woman I have ever beheld in thirty winters of life, across what I count now as three continents and two worlds. Your allure is without compare, and still you walk in beauty, though the vessel may have changed somewhat. Even so, it has not changed all that much, I think.”

She felt her own expression soften at his words, so eloquent and heartfelt as ever, soothing the pique in her as he always did. No wonder she felt so lost, without her Knight to anchor her. She took strength in his presence, and lifted her eyes to the mirror at last. “I…you believe this?” Gisele asked.

“I have made much of your eyes, but are your soft curls not still white as virgin snow fallen upon the highlands, my dove?” Haurchefant mused aloud in wonder, and Gisele closed her eyes a moment, at the sensation of feather light caresses grazing her cheeks. Gods but Haurchefant was so gentle, and she had sorely missed his touch. “Is your skin not the richest, most magnificent hue I have ever beheld, bronze dark and glorious as the sun set low upon the twilight hour, fair glowing from within?”

Haurchefant slipped around her then, embracing her from behind—and Gisele gasped when his hands, strong and firm, spread smooth across the Hingan silk of her chiton, exploring her curves. She closed her eyes, gasping in pleasure as they widened and squeezed her breasts firmly, and he teased her large nipples through the thin silk of the bandeau; they hardened at the slightest touch of his fingers. 

“Haurche...” Gisele whimpered, squirming back against him, her body aflame with every grope and squeeze of his hands. 

He smiled, his breath warm and heavy within her long ears as he lovingly fondled her. “Is your bosom not gloriously buxom and voluptuous, and made to be worshipped by all you deem worthy?” he asked.

Haurchefant’s hands drifted down the length of her torso, following her curves to rest upon the narrow taper of her waist; they came around to rest upon her bare midriff, caressing for a long moment the taut muscles of her abdomen, so honed by the Kriegstanz, before drifting around back, between their thighs, to grip her thick, pert bottom with a firm squeeze. Gisele bit her lip against the moan which escaped her throat, all unbidden, when she felt the pleasant sting of his hand in a swat against her lower cheek, setting it to quivering. 

“Still, your lovely bottom remains deliciously plump, and so tantalizing...” Haurchefant’s voice hitched upon the words, even as he kneaded her firmly, massaging her. 

It was proving ever more difficult for Gisele to find words, to protest his homage, with his hands so upon her. 

“Think me deterred by your ears?” He whispered into them, as he lightly stroked the soft fur, and Gisele’s breath hitched within her throat; she did not know how sensitive they were until that moment. “Nay—all the better for you to receive my affections, and sighs of pleasure. For the whole of your body was made for loving, my sihaya. Whether it be Elezen or Viera...you were made to be exalted. So revel in it, as you always have.”

It startled her of a moment, how easily she had forgotten such a truth. So disconnected from herself she was that Gisele had not known any manner of desire, since; she feared it, feeling revulsion at the thought, for there was some irrational part of her mind that feared it would become all too real, this body of hers, were she to seek pleasure in it.

But Haurchefant…her beloved knight stoked desire within her like a blazing bonfire, like few others. Gisele was starved for it—for him, and his tender caresses were like unto an oasis after a long and arduous journey through the sands of the Sagolii.

“Gaze upon that alluring reflection, my love. I pray that you might see yourself as I do,” he said, his lips brushing the tuft of her leporine ear. “The ravishing beauty who has ever sat the throne of my heart.”

Gisele did as he asked, marveling at the flush of her dark skin, the evidence of her yearning writ large in the parting of the perfect bow of her full lips. And, mayhap for the first time, she did not dwell upon that which she missed, rather the litany of similarities Haurchefant so lovingly recounted in eloquent detail—and how very beautiful she still was, for even if her features had changed somewhat, they still were finely hewn, and still made every head in the Crystarium turn as she passed, not least of which the Exarch’s. And she luxuriated in the way she felt within Haurchefant’s strong and affectionate arms: so warm, sensual, and filled with yearning...

Mayhap, a little like herself. 

“Thank you, Haurche,” she said simply, raising a hand to rest upon her heart with a smile. He knew her mind better than anyone, by now, and she silently thanked the Fury that he knew precisely what she needed, even when she herself did not. Such was the truest measure of a Knight, in the Leonhart tradition, after all. 

“I would leave no room for doubt, my love,” Haurchefant said, nuzzling her ear with his cheek, “that still you are my glory, as you were upon that first enchanted eve at Camp Dragonhead—if you so desire it.”

Gisele stroked the leather vambrace encasing his arm, and smiled. “I do, and then some, my lord.”

Haurchefant wasted no time, in relieving himself of his fine armor. Quickly did he loose and shrug his cape from his broad shoulders, and deftly unstrapped the breastplate, the grieves and vambraces, kicking off his boots; and Gisele laughed softly in affection, for never had she seen him strip so quickly, and with such gusto. But her laughter ceased when she beheld his tightly muscled flesh, for the first time in what seemed an age—still, did he possess the physique of an adonis chiseled from the finest marble, strapping and lean. She reached out with a trembling hand, to caress his chiseled pectorals, drifting her hand down his rippling abdomen to the familiar, jagged scar, still faintly shimmering, and stroked it with no less awe as the first time she so beheld it.

She unbelted his trousers then, and pulled them down with his smallclothes, her mouth grown dry at the sight of his thickly muscled thighs and what lay between them, rigid as he had ever been. She reached for him, but he smiled, shaking his head, and gently brushed her hand away, lifting it to his mouth with a caress of his lips.

“Nay, dear lady. I have waited too long for this, to worship your delectable body once more,” Haurchefant said. Smiling, he began to undress her in kind, unraveling the silk with which she was adorned, unfastening the myriad gold chains and belts wrapped about her with reverent hands. She sighed in blissful content when he removed her of the bandeau, unfastening it from the back, and her voluminous breasts hung free at last of the restrictive wrapping; he gazed upon them in undisguised hunger. “So beautiful…” he murmured, lightly squeezing them, before he eased her remaining garments off.

Gisele leaned forward, bracing with one hand upon the dresser for balance, as she reached with the other to slip the first perilously heeled thigh-high sandal off, but Haurchefant caught her slender wrist within his tight grip as she found the tops. “Leave them be,” he purred, stroking the leather, along with her wrist. “And your jewelry, as well. I would have you gaze upon your reflection, my love, and remember who you are, as I pour my love upon you: the Lady of House Fortemps, who is mine.” He slid between her and the dresser, and she was confused for a moment, for he blocked her view of the mirror when doing so, but his intent soon became all too clear, when he parted her pouting lips with a hot and eager tongue, 

Thus, wearing naught but thigh high heels and the scarlet unicorn of her cherished house, did Gisele surrender to Haurchefant’s will.

And pour his love upon her he did, kissing and caressing her flushed, dark skin from the roundness of her cheeks, down the length of her body, exploring it with his hungry mouth and eager hands, learning it anew and savoring every ilm and every moment. As Gisele did, purring softly when he suckled her breasts by turns, drawing lazy circles about her areola, large and dark as the shadowed moon. And, as he commanded, she lifted her gaze to the mirror, in quiet awe of how she came alive with the hunger he stirred within her to a fever pitch; her full, pouting lips were parted, her lids kissed by violet pigment heavy with desire, her round cheeks flush. She was mesmerized by the rise and fall of her bust as her breath hitched, when Haurchefant kissed his way down the muscles of her abdomen, lower and lower...

Mayhap she fell a little in love with herself again.

And Haurchefant sunk reverent to his knees before her, as a penitent pilgrim before the altar of her glory, settling between her thick thighs; she spread her legs, planting the tall heels of her sandals on each side of him, and he pressed his lips against her mound, before gazing up at her with eyes gleaming bright with lust. When he lowered his mouth to lick her inner thighs, his chin rubbed against the leather straps sheathing them, and Gisele’s blood burned like fire within, racing with the staccato beating of her heart within her ears in anticipation and yearning. His fingers slid with languid caresses across her folds, spreading them with his longest to swirl it in her slickness, smearing his fingers with the evidence of her desire. Again and again, he exhaled hot breath upon her nether lips as he did, teasing her, toying with her as a bard upon a lyre, plucking the strings of need till they were taut.

“By the Fury, I missed this,” Haurchefant sighed dreamily, parting her sodden folds to reveal the swollen pearl within. “Such sweet nectar overflowing…”

Indescribable pleasure blossomed at the base of her spine, coiling up through her, when Haurchefant’s warm and wet tongue at last lowered upon her sex, and Gisele gasped in delight. She glimpsed herself in the mirror, grinning salaciously, and lowered her hands to Haurchefant’s bobbing head, running her fingers idly through his silvery locks as he licked her clean with firm, rhythmic strokes, swirling circles about her swollen clit. His own hands rose up, sliding up her thighs, around to the bottom he so adored, and he gripped it tightly for leverage even as he ground his tongue against her. 

Gisele had never taken pleasure this way before, gazing at herself as she did, and she found it a goad to her desire in ways she never could have imagined. Within the mirror, she spied the bow of her mouth parted with her heavy breathing, and she tilted her head, biting her thick lower lip as she rolled her hips up into his hot mouth. It was a strange manner of performance thus; and performance it was, akin to the fires which burned inside her whenever she sought pleasure before the hungry eyes of others. Then, too, at such times did she revel in making a show of such pleasures, and the lust she stirred in those who gazed upon her. That it was an audience of one this time seemed to matter little; that it was her own hungry eyes mattered less, for the thrill was all the same. And so she leaned back, gripping fistfuls of Haurchefant’s silky, silver locks, and writhed sensually against his mouth, riding his face, watching with bated, hitched breaths her chiseled belly rolling like waves as she danced upon his tongue and pushed his head down. Betimes he plunged his tongue deep within her cauldron of heat, nuzzling her slick pearl with his hawkish, aquiline nose; others he brought his thumb up to rub it quick and hard, setting her to moaning,

But with every sensual roll of her curvaceous hips, and every hot, wet caress of his tongue upon her throbbing clit, Gisele reveled in the sight of her own pleasure, of the way her yearning flesh came alive with his licentious kisses, drinking her deep.

How could she despise such a lush body, when Haurchefant made it sing?

Haurchefant’s finger slipped inside her entrance and Gisele moaned, raking her fingers through his hair, and she struggled to keep her eyes upon the mirror, her head rolled back, gasping in renewed delight as fresh waves of pleasure washed over her spine. In the end, it was too much for her to bear, tension building and building, his tongue lashing against her, and then he pursed his lips around her clit, sucking it hard, the tip of his tongue pressed even harder into it, and she lost all control.

“Haurchefant!” Gisele cried his name in a long, ragged moan, her knees buckling, tensing at last in his grasp with one final jerk of her hips as the sweetest manner of release washed over the whole of her body, blissful pleasure engulfing her.

And he gently caressed her thighs, pressing soft and slick kisses upon them by turns, before he rose to his feet, smiling brightly as he wiped her smeared pleasure from his chin with the back of his hand, and pulled her into his arms. Gisele was grateful for it, so unsteady she had become upon her feet, and she collapsed into his embrace, clinging to him, while he stroked her back.

“You taste as sweet as ever, my love,” he breathed into her ear.

Gisele smiled against the long, elegant line of his neck, pressing her lips into his warm skin, licking and sucking it as she did. And she kissed her way up to the thin lobe of his ear, catching it within her teeth, and as she reached down between their sweat damp bodies, her hand drifting toward his engorged phallus, she whispered to him, “I would know it, love.”

She had always been insatiable, of a surety; her blood ran hot and always did, her desires nigh feverish, once unleashed. But it seemed with the change in her form came a renewed sense of urgency, for she found herself yearning for yet more, even in the wake of so soon a release. When Haurchefant’s tongue hungrily plunged into her mouth, nigh to the back of her throat, she moaned against his mouth, the taste of her slick upon his lips—salty and of a surety sweet as honey—re-igniting the smoldering embers within her once more; his hands tightening upon her bottom, groping and squeezing them, set them to a raging bonfire.

“Such delightful hands,” Haurchefant murmured against her hair, groaning as she slowly stroked the thick length of his shaft.

“Do you wish more?” Gisele asked; her other hand she brought up to caress his flushed face, even as her fingers lightly curled about his cock. “What have you yearned for, my lord, in this long year bereft of me? This, I would also know.”

Haurchefant bit back a moan, his hands a vice upon her lower cheeks, gripping them hard. “This,” he purred, swatting her cheek, and that time Gisele felt the full, sharp sting of his hand, with no slippery silk between it and her quivering flesh, and it set her to gasping with renewed pleasure.

“Then take it,” she said, wiggling playfully in his grasp.

He did not need to be told a second time, and so slithered behind her, but Gisele would make a far more enticing invitation, and thus took a long step backward, spreading her long legs wide, and bent over to grasp the edge of the bureau, her back arched in just the manner that her bottom was prone in the air.

It drove him mad, for Haurchefant fell to his knees behind her, spread her open wide as her legs, and licked her clean from end to end before burying his tongue deep within her puckered entrance, for the most libertine of kisses. Gisele was sensitive as ever, for she gasped a keening cry as he swirled inside her prone ass, ravenous and hot, and she slipped her hand down between her thighs to massage her clit, desperate as she was for friction. He ate her for a long and sensuous age, until suddenly he withdrew, leaving her cold and maddeningly bereft, but roughly shoved her against the bureau, and spread her open once more, only to press his cock hard against her cleft. But he did not enter her, no; rather, he squeezed her lower cheeks about his shaft and rubbed himself shamelessly between them.

“Ahh, _Gisele_ …” Haurchefant rasped, his breath hitching, and Gisele’s palms spread flat upon the oakenwood, her fingers curling; she bit her lip at the sight, through the mirror, of his engorged tip rubbing up and down the length of her ass. Though he loved every ilm of her, as a surety, it was his very favorite of her features, always the subject of his most fervent worship, and tonight was no exception. More than once, he had spent himself this way, grinding himself to satisfied completion and spilling his seed upon her thick cheeks, and the thought of it thrilled her like little else…yet she craved more, her thighs squeezing of their own volition, against the yearning between them.

“I beg of you, my lord…” Gisele moaned, making much of the plea in her trembling voice, though it was only a little exaggerated.

Haurchefant’s fingertips dug into her cheeks as he rode her cleft. “What do you beg for, dear girl?”

“You...inside me...”

“And how would you like to be filled, my wanton little minx?” Haurchefant purred, as he teased both her entrances with his slick and swollen tip, by turns. “Shall it be the Pillars, or the Brume?”

Gisele would have giggled at his choice of metaphor, had she not been so ravenous; it was the cruelest of questions, of a surety, for she wanted much and more of him. But, in the end, her sodden loins cared not how he filled her; only that he did, and deep to the core.

“However you wish to fill me, my lord,” Gisele whimpered, her eyes lowered in just the submissive manner she knew fanned the flames of his insatiable lust. “My lord shall have his pleasure as he wills.”

It had precisely the intended effect, for Gisele gasped a high-pitched, keening cry as Haurchefant pierced her through with a single hard, sharp thrust, sheathing himself to the hilt within her throbbing cunt. And she closed her eyes a moment, luxuriating in the sensation of being so filled by him, yielding to his girth as she had not for far too long; he must have felt the same, for he stood there a long moment in stillness, stroking her cheeks. 

“By the Fury have I missed this,” Haurchefant whispered, a second time, and even needier than the first. He hunched down to grab her shoulder with one hand, while the other reached beneath her and cupped her breast, pinching her hard nipple between his fingers, and began to pound his cock in and out of her. Never before had she been privy to the sight of his face as he mounted her from behind, but Gisele was transfixed upon it within the mirror even as she clung to the oakenwood for dear life, locking her knees that they did not smash into the drawers. His luminous blue eyes were shadowed by pure, insatiable hunger, a predatory glint therein, his brow furrowed low, lips parted, breath coming hard in sharp grunts. It was so raw, and so very beautiful, the hedonistic pleasure in that handsome face as he drove his cock deep within her, piercing her to the core with every thrust.

Haurchefant’s ravenous eyes met her own, in the crystalline pane, and his lips curved into a lecherous smile; his tongue glided across his lips to lick them playfully, and Gisele’s inner fires were stoked to an inferno. Just as she made a show for herself of her pleasure, so did Haurchefant, his eyes burning into her through the reflection as he smoothed his hands down the graceful arch of her back to settle upon her curves, tightening around her hips, and he roughly yanked her ass back against his powerful thighs, bucking his hips hard into her, her flesh quivering every time it smacked into them. Again and again, he fair ravished her, and without slowing, he shoved his hand between her thighs to rub her clit in time to his deep strokes, slick and firm. She could only shut her eyes, lost in the competing sensations, gladly surrendering to him with all she was.

After a blissful age of ravishment, finally Gisele’s palms skidded along the surface of the wood, and she screamed unfettered with the powerful force of release which overwhelmed her senses, lightning shooting down her spine as stars burst before her eyes, the whole of her body shuddering rapturously beneath him, and in the selfsame moment did she feel Haurchefant’s fingers dig hard into her hips, his vice grip tensing along with his thighs in a final sharp thrust. He spent himself with an incoherent cry, and Gisele chanced to glimpse the reflection of his rapturous face in the mirror, the precise moment he came: more exquisite in the throes of his euphoria than ever she had seen, and she could have wept for such beauty.

“I love you, Haurche,” Gisele whispered to his glorious reflection, her heart full to near bursting; then, she did weep, tears of joy, streaking down her moon-faced cheeks in tiny rivulets.

She never, ever wished to be parted from him again.

“And I you, Gisele,” Haurchefant whispered back to her reflection, a bit breathlessly, staying entwined with her for a long moment. When he withdrew, it was only for a moment, for he soon scooped her into his arms, and carried her over to the plush, if somewhat spartan bed nearby, and deposited her gently upon it, before climbing in next to her. They nestled together beneath the linen sheets, tangled in one another’s arms, gazing deeply into one another’s eyes, and Gisele smiled in content.

“I feel somewhat like myself, again,” she sighed, snuggling tightly against him. She nuzzled his neck, and he took care to shift his arm that it not lay across her ears—an adjustment for them both, which set them to chuckling softly.

But Haurchefant pressed a gentle finger against her button nose, and smiled. “Full glad I am to hear it, my lapinette. If ever you should doubt yourself, remember this night. Or, even better, we shall repeat it, for emphasis!”

Warmth spread across Gisele’s cheeks at his choice of affection; mayhap her predicament was not so onerous, if it meant he found new ways to be adorably smitten. “I should hope we might anyway, if I am confident.”

Haurchefant’s smile grew brighter, and he held her against him tightly, nuzzling her soft wealth of curls. “As long as you will it, love,” he said, and kissed the top of her head.


End file.
